


Carry You Out Through The Confetti While Everyone Cheers

by Lillian



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:51:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian/pseuds/Lillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After moving out of Nightray Manor Gil thinks he's put some distance between his brother and himself. He's mistaken.</p><p>Or: Vincent pays Gilbert a visit in his new house and they break in the couch  while manipulating each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry You Out Through The Confetti While Everyone Cheers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/gifts).



Gilbert's new house was hovering right on the edge of what could politely be called a disreputable neighborhood. The markets sprawled on one side of it, teeming with pickpockets and find-the-lady swindlers, and on the other curved the river, dotted with gin-soaked pubs and dockside gambling dens, with the occasional corpse of an unfortunate drunk or murder victim floating on the surface to enliven the atmosphere.

It wasn't the kind of area where Gilbert would expect to be bothered by strangers, so the knock at the door took him by surprise. He froze by the kitchen table, a bowl of cake batter held in his hands. No one but the Rainsworths was supposed to know he was here. Break never used the door. It could be a pair of burglars, one trying to lure him to the front of the house while the other sneaked out back, but that was unlikely in the middle of the afternoon. Or it could be, after all, a mistake.

The knock sounded again. Deciding he couldn't waste any more time wondering, Gilbert exchanged the bowl for his revolver and crept towards the entryway. No use trying to take a look at the visitor through one of the rooms facing towards the front of the house - he'd have to open the windows and that would just make him a nice convenient target to shoot at. Shame, because it was impossible to tread softly in this house, the floor bare wooden planks all over. Gilbert cursed silently at himself for not thoroughly checking which floorboards creaked, or at least for not immediately buying thick carpets for every room. He'd been here a week already so he'd had time, but he'd been so preoccupied with his impending mission in the Abyss he'd neglected basic precautions.

If something as simple as a creaky board ruined his plan to save his master Gilbert would never be able to forgive himself.

The door, three inches thick, solid oak, loomed larger with each cautious step Gilbert took. It was sturdy enough to stop bullets, anything short of a half dozen fired at the lock or the hinges, and that would buy Gilbert some time. Unless the attacker was a contractor as well. Gilbert's own blood mirror felt heavier than usual underneath his clothes, somehow watchful, but Gilbert preferred to deal with this without the Raven. It was too conspicuous, too destructive, and its strength was best conserved right now. It wasn't at all because the chain unnerved him.

He had almost reached the door when his luck finally ran out and a dry board screeched beneath his boot. He cringed, but his right thumb was already pulling back the hammer of his revolver while his free hand reached for the latch. His arm tensed in preparation. He leaned towards the peephole.

And for a moment he thought it must be defective, because the only thing visible on the other side of the curved glass was a distorted golden eye, as if a mirror image of Gil's own. Then the image shifted, pulled back, and morphed into a smile, closed-lipped and unnaturally wide, but still recognizable. Vincent.

The hand holding the revolver fell by Gilbert's side without thought, while the other ran through his hair nervously. What to do? Letting Vincent in could be trouble, and truth be told he did not wish to deal with Vincent's unsettling presence right now. He'd thought he'd be free of that, at least for a while, after he left the Nightray house and as good as threw away his position in society. 

Like always, the thought brought with itself a pang of shame. There was no rational reason for his... distaste for Vincent. The teddies, his constant, almost unnatural dreamy cheerfulness, that creepy Echo he'd picked up Gods knew where that he always sat on his lap like a doll, those were just eccentricities. Gilbert had met considerably weirder people at Pandora. Some of them had been giving him orders, even.

And Vincent had always been helpful to Gilbert. He'd always put him first, before the Nightray house and his own interest, and Gilbert had used that, had used him. He owed Vincent, and he'd promised himself, vaguely, that he'd repay him somehow once Oz was safe and sound and back where he belonged. It was one more thing to be guilty about, easily dwarfed for the time being by some of Gilbert's other failings. But someday, Gilbert would - he would, ah - spend some time with Vincent socially, perhaps. Pay attention to him, which always seemed to make Vincent touchingly grateful. Perhaps Gilbert would even try being a real brother to him. That might be possible, once Oz was back. Gilbert could afford to care about Vincent if Oz were safe.

But right now Vincent was a complication that Gilbert couldn't decide how to get rid of.

Vincent's clear, pleasant voice called out from the other side of the door, making up Gil's mind for him.

"There's smoke coming out of your chimney, brother. I hope Gil doesn't mean to play hide and seek with me."

Gilbert flung open the door, hastily shoving the revolver in its shoulder holster, and hissed at Vincent without bothering to hide his displeasure. 

"Get in, quick."

Vincent made no move to obey, gave no indication that he'd heard Gil at all, save for cocking his head slightly.

"Brother looks well," he said.

He was in civilian clothes for once. His hair tied to the side, falling in waves over a richly embroidered olive green coat in turn covering the immaculate ivory silk of his waistcoat, the crisp white satin of his shirt. Vincent turned heads wherever he went, but in this grubby corner of the city he shone like a diamond in a coal heap. Between the people staring greedily at his gold buttons and those doing the same at his gold hair, the whole street had focused their single-minded attention on Gilbert's doorstep. Gilbert _did not_ need that kind of attention.

"Vincent, for pity's sake!"

He finally reached over and grasped Vincent by the arm, and ushered him in away from the curious eyes of neighbors and passersby. Vincent went easily, showing no objection to being manhandled. The door banged closed safely behind them, and Gilbert let out a relieved breath.

His relief was short-lived. Vincent trained his soft, sleepy eyes on him. He blinked lazily, like a cat, and a chill ran up Gilbert's spine. It suddenly occurred to him how catlike Vincent was in general. In the still dusk of the entryway, and so close to Vincent the thought was more unsettling than it should have been. It wasn't like Gilbert _really_ was cooped up with one of those beasts.

"Brother looks energetic for a sick person," remarked Vincent, with a subtle reproach. One of his hands covered Gilbert's fingers on his own arm. The touch was very light, silky with the feel of Vincent's glove. Gilbert let go immediately. Vincent sighed, clutched at his own elbow where Gilbert's fingers had been, and continued. "Gil asked to be excused from his duties as a member of Pandora due to poor health for the first time in eight years. Naturally I was worried."

"I - As you can see, I'm not sick,” Gilbert faltered. He'd counted on having enough time to make up a cover story after he'd brought Oz back from the Abyss, he hadn't thought he'd need to explain himself this soon. He scrambled for something to say. "I needed some time to myself... after the Headhunter attack. How did you find where I lived?"

Vincent just gave him a smile, one that he wore quite often out in society or among the Nightrays, and rarely with Gilbert. It meant he was pretending not to hear the question and the accusation in Gilbert's tone. Vincent could be frightfully good at ignoring unpleasant circumstances. Gilbert wasn't getting anything out of him this time. 

"Aren't you going to ask me in?" Vincent asked in a moment.

Gilbert's jaw clenched momentarily in frustration, but he really had no choice. He led the way to the sitting room without another word.

“Take a seat – wherever. I'll be right back,” he said, and headed towards the kitchen, to avoid conversation more than anything.

Of course Vincent trailed after him instead of opting for the more comfortable, and distant, couches. He tugged a chair closer to the kitchen table, his gaze following Gilbert patiently as he checked the oven, scooped up the dough into a baking mold and slid it in the oven, then busied himself further by putting away various pots into the sink. He took off his apron and balled it in his fist. When he couldn't avoid it any longer he finally turned to face his brother.

Vincent sat primly with his hands crossed in his lap, not looking uncomfortable in the least on the hard, narrow chair.

"Tea?" offered Gilbert grudgingly.

Vincent beamed, as if a cup of lukewarm tea from Gilbert's hands was enough to make his day. By the time he'd poured tea for Vincent and himself and taken out a plateful of yesterday's batch of walnut cookies (he baked when he was nervous), Gilbert had already resigned himself to the conversation. He even thought to start himself in the probably vain hope that being on the offensive would make it go more smoothly.

"Now that you know there's no reason to be worried about me, tell me how you found where I live," Gilbert demanded. "You didn't... use Pandora resources for something as trivial as this?"

"Oh, there's always a reason to be worried about Gil. Often more than one. Gil is so trusting, he could easily let dangerous people take advantage of him if he's not careful," Vincent said breezily. Gilbert suppressed the desire to grit his teeth. 

"Did you make yourself a nuisance at Pandora looking for me?" Gilbert groped again for the information he needed. He knew he was too blunt, but he just wasn't skilled at double speak and wheedling out secrets like Break, or Sharon, no matter how often he wished he was.

"I doubt anyone at Pandora would object to my looking for Gil. In fact, with the Headhunter still at large I believe the Nightrays are entitled to any help we might need in locating one of our own, " Vincent said, daintily nibbling on a cookie.

Gilbert fumed, not knowing what to address first, Vincent's assertion that Gilbert was still a part of the Nightray family, the terrifying possibility that Vincent had arranged some loud and troublesome hunt for him, or even the possibility Vincent might have been sent here by the family. But no, Break would have told him if Pandora or the Nightrays were looking for Gil, and Break hadn't been by in three days. The thought reassured Gilbert somewhat.

Vincent must have read the relief on his face, because his lips pursed in a moue of disappointment, before he seemed to decide to give up his little game.

"Gil may rest easy. I did not use Pandora or the Nightray name to find him," Vincent said, watching Gil carefully over the rim of his cup.

Gilbert, reassured on one point, was about to ask how exactly had Vincent found him then, when Vincent spoke again.

"Although I would have been right to do so."

"I was very clear that I left the Nightray family behind," Gilbert said, in a tense beat.

"Unfortunately, while Gil is in possession of the Nightray family chain, I doubt there is anything scandalous enough Gil could do to be disinherited," Vincent pointed out, not sounding like he thought it was unfortunate at all. "Besides, cowardly fleeing in the face of danger and leaving one's family members to be slaughtered is not unexpected of Nightrays, is it?"

Gil slammed his fist on the table before he knew what he was doing. The cups rattled ominously. Vincent rescued the milk jug, precariously perched close to the edge.

"I _did not_ leave because of that. You know I didn't."

Vincent nodded agreeably, but the turn the conversation had taken had set guilt gnawing at the pit of Gil's stomach again.

"How's Elliot?" Gilbert asked, after losing a silent battle with himself.

Vincent made a single gesture with his hand, an eloquent little movement which was the well-bred person's substitute for shrugging, and which said clearer than any words "if you cared so much, you would have checked for yourself", but he answered anyway.

"Elliot believes in loyalty. He thinks the Nightray family took Gil in, and that Gil turned his back on them now for no good reason," Vincent's eyes flashed. "But Gil believes everyone has their use. The Nightray family tried to make use of Gil, and Gil made use of the Nightray family. Isn't that so?"

"I don't believe in using people," Gilbert protested weakly, and hated himself a little more because he knew Vincent was right. Even now, he was trying to reassure Vincent only to pull the wool over his eyes, only so he could use him again.

"Not _all_ people. I'm sure Gil would never take advantage of his good friends," Vincent said, and his voice was soft as a kitten's paw before the claws came out. "Like Break, for instance. it occurs to me he didn't seem to be at all concerned for Gil these past few days. I wonder why, since he's so close to Brother."

"Don't be silly, Vince, we're not close. He's just another superior," Gilbert said, forcing his suddenly dry mouth to move.

"Ah, but he is Gil's mentor, is he not? Otherwise why would Gil have sent him secret letters detailing the movements of the Nightray house for years? I had always assumed it was because Break was so very concerned about Brother, but perhaps I was mistaken."

Vincent leaned closer over the table. Gilbert watched his lips move, transfixed. It struck him how out of place Vincent looked in his kitchen, cozy and spartan at the same time. Neither fit Vincent, who looked beautiful in such a fine, expensive way he might as well have been crafted and not born. The artisan had messed up, though, and put a red eye where there should have been another golden one, and now it clashed with the rest of Vincent, with his hair and skin and coat.

"Perhaps I should sent the copies I made of a few _particularly_ interesting letters to certain influential people at Pandora. After all, it could be said that the Rainsworths had conspired against and even installed a spy in another Great Dukedom. And as I recall, there was ample evidence of insubordination as well. That should not be easily overlooked, don't you agree?"

Fear never froze Gilbert. When he was scared he acted on instinct, and he acted right. With chains or humans alike, on missions or where his self-imposed, much more important goal was concerned. Yet now he was left floundering. If Vincent made good on his threats - and it was a shock in itself that Vincent was threatening him so casually - it would mean an inquiry, an indefinite postponement of Gilbert's plans. And who was to say Break would still be willing to help him after such a blow to the Rainsworths' reputation.

Gilbert's hand shot out like a viper and grabbed Vincent by the wrist.

"Gil-"

"Don't do this," Gilbert warned, pleaded, he didn't know which. He didn't know what he might do.

His own hand pulled Vincent to him, closer, closer still, forced him out of his chair until their faces were only a couple of inches apart, Vincent hovering just above Gilbert.

"Gil," Vincent said softly, this time with a touch of wonder, and extended one hand slowly, like one would to a feral animal, to stroke Gilbert's cheek. Again that soft touch, and then Vincent whispered in a rush. "I only want to protect Gil. Whatever that man promised, he cannot deliver without putting Gil in terrible danger."

Gilbert couldn't remember the last time anyone had purposefully touched him without wanting to kill him. The glove made the touch feel unnatural, inhuman. He couldn't feel the warmth of Vincent's skin through it.

Gilbert's mind was a whirl of thoughts and considerations. Vincent was unpredictable. Gilbert had taken advantage of his feelings, and would likely need to do so again. There was too much at stake and Vincent's breathing was fast and excited, and Vincent was leaning in, and Gilbert wished he could believe he had never been able to think of this magnificent stranger as a brother. But Gil had, some old instinct had made him accept Vincent as his family, even if he'd only ever acted like it when it was convenient for him. There was no excuse.

Gilbert's chin tipped upwards until he could feel Vincent's lips trembling against his, Vincent's sweet-smelling breath soon shared between them, and then Gil acted on instinct, as always. He did what he had to do.

Vincent's mouth was so wet, shockingly wet and slick, his lips full, like ripe berries that would burst with sweet juice if handled too roughly. Vincent had gasped in surprise at the first touch, but then he'd moved without hesitation, he'd bestowed a small kiss to the middle of Gil's lower lip, and then to the corner of his mouth, before stroking Gil's lips parted with his tongue.

The kiss went on, Vincent's fingers pressing Gil's jaw open, angling his mouth for easier access, his tongue stroking Gil's into compliance. Vincent was skilled at this, skilled enough that he made it all effortless for Gil too, pulling back when Gil needed to breathe without breaking apart, then deepening the kiss once more.

Gilbert had heard no rumors of Vincent's conduct, but based on Vincent's frequent nightly absences he'd made his own conclusions as to how numerous Vincent's affairs were. Now he was witnessing the results first hand, in Vincent's easy grace as he tugged Gil to his feet and led him by the hand to the couch. It made the whole thing surreal, too close to Gilbert's only real memory of his brother - a little boy flushed with pleasure clinging to Gil's elbow in a sun-drenched garden.

There were two high spots of color on Vincent's cheeks now too, as he sat Gil down and gracefully slid to his knees in front of him, parting Gil's thighs open wide. He paused, gloved thumbs stroking the inseam of Gilbert's trousers.

"I will take such good care of Gil," Vincent said, earnest.

He leaned in to rub his cheek against the front of Gilbert's trousers, shameless, and slid one palm up, fingers slipping between the buttons of his shirt to stroke Gilbert's stomach briefly. Again that distant leathery touch, and Gilbert had reached for Vincent's hand without meaning to. Vincent's hand turned in his, perhaps thinking Gil wanted a reassurance, but Gilbert just tore the offending glove off, and reached for the other impatiently.

Vincent laughed delightedly at Gilbert's show of eagerness, and tilted his chin upward to kiss him briefly on the mouth, the jaw, then on the back of Gil's hand still entwined with Vincent's. Vincent's newly bare hands moved to the fastenings of Gilbert's trousers without hesitation.

Through the thin fabric of his underclothes Vincent's slender fingers stroked Gil's member, soft but already firming. Vincent's face showed no shame, only joy, as he cradled Gilbert in his bare hand, as he exposed him, as he leaned closer with parted lips. And wasn't Vincent the one who was supposed to remember what they were to each other?

The feeling of unreality frayed as Vincent traced patterns across the crown of Gil's member with a pointed coral pink tongue, sucked on the very tip reverently, drew his soft, soft lips along the length, first brazen, then coyly hiding his ministrations behind the oversized lace of his sleeve. Gil bit on his own thumb until he drew blood, clawed at the damask. He closed his eyes so as not to see but couldn't stand not watching.

He hadn't wanted to take pleasure in this. He'd wanted to bind Vincent in a secret, to bribe him, to repay him, to scare him off, to allay his own guilt, to have a confirmation of his brother's depravity, a justified reason for disliking him. He hadn't imagined it would feel this good. This was for Vincent, for Oz. Gilbert wasn't supposed to enjoy it.

He pried Vincent away from him by the hair. Below his heaving belly his angry-red member, now untouched, jutted upwards obscenely. Vincent looked up at Gil with half-lidded eyes. He had a red mouth now to match that bloody eye.

"Does Gil regret seducing me?" he asked playfully.

"I didn't seduce you, you seduced me!" Gilbert's grip, which had started to slacken, tightened momentarily in Vincent's silken tresses. Vincent didn't bat an eye at the rough treatment anymore than he had before.

"My apologies. Brother is far above me," he said quietly, and turned to press his puffy lips to Gilbert's wrist. Gil did not know what to say to that. "I'll be certain to send him roses later and properly declare my intentions."

Before Gil could decide if he was being mocked, Vincent bent to kiss along Gil's hipbone, circled the slit of his head in a maddening little tease of a touch with the smooth pad of a finger, and soon the only response Gilbert was capable of was arcing his hips off the couch.

Vincent sat back after that, perhaps some well-honed instinct telling him that Gilbert wouldn't reconsider now. He undressed Gilbert first, thumbing open numerous tiny shirt buttons with practiced ease, before sliding Gil's already undone trousers and small clothes down his legs and tugging off his boots.

It happened too quickly, all of a sudden Gilbert was bare, and his fully clothed brother had risen to his feet and was watching him intently. Gil averted his eyes. He only had his shirt on, but it hung open, covering nothing, held back from slipping down Gil's shoulders only by the revolver's holster harness. The fact he still had his gun on made him feel dirtier. Gil didn't want to be the only one naked, so he reached for Vincent and started pulling off his clothes. Vincent indulged him, let Gilbert do a messy job of undressing him, scratching his hands on the stiff embroidery of the coat and tearing Vincent's cravat in his haste to rip it off.

Once Vincent was bare from the waist up he moved to kneel on the couch between Gilbert's legs. He hooked his hands beneath Gilbert's thighs and kissed his neck, trapped a tense tendon between his teeth. Then he heaved Gil up, and Gilbert, distracted, moved into it. Before he knew it, he was in Vincent's lap.

"Shh," Vincent said, soothingly, though Gilbert had said nothing. "It's all right."

He touched Gil's member again, and Gilbert finally opened Vincent’s own trousers, and took him in hand. They were the same size, the same shape. Gil's member jumped in Vincent's grip. The air was heavy now, with musk and the innocent, cloying vanilla scent of a cake baking. Gil wondered absently if that smell would always remind him of this moment.

Vincent sighed softly and pressed his forehead to Gil's. He seemed to want to catch his eye, but Gilbert kept his gaze down. He focused on the shiny red crown peeking from his grip. He sped up the movements of his hand. He wanted it to be over.

Vincent stilled his wrist. It figured, it could never be as easy as that. His brother reached up and yanked on his hair ribbon until Gil's hair spilled free. He traced Gil's ear with quick fingers, then with his tongue. Gil's labored breathing hitched.

"It must have been a long time for Brother," Vincent whispered. "I'll be gentle."

His lips tickled as he spoke and made Gil shiver. He didn't register the implication, not even when Vincent reached back for the oil lamp on the table. Not until Vincent had one oiled hand curving around Gil's waist, briefly cupping Gil's buttocks, before moving quickly to massage his hole. He didn't even have time to disabuse Vincent of the idea that Gil had done this before.

There was too much oil, Gilbert thought, it was going to drip and stain his nice new couch. He closed his eyes altogether. His brother's other hand had them both in a grip. It was slick too. Vincent squeezed them together, another successful distraction, before his fingers finally slid in, two in one go. Gilbert's head fell to Vincent's shoulder where he could at least hide his flaming cheeks.

"Gil is so lovely," Vincent whispered, with the same wonder from when they first kissed.

This too didn't hurt. Being penetrated only felt good, an immediate stretch and an unfamiliar fullness that made Gilbert feel like all the nerves inside him had lain dormant all his life, until Vincent woke them and made them thrum like strings pulled to breaking.

All too soon Vincent's fingers pulled out. Gilbert stayed quiet, his face still turned into Vincent's shoulder, as Vincent positioned his member at Gilbert's entrance. The tip caught at the rim for one endless moment, before Gilbert's brother pushed in. He didn't go in all at once, but in several short jabs, until their hips were flush against each other. Gilbert had never felt more pleasure in his life, wasn't prepared for it, he felt caught in a riot of sensation that couldn't be ignored or transcended the way he'd learned to do with pain.

Gil's brother was inside him. Gil had let him do this. The two thoughts turned and turned in Gilbert's mind, chasing each other. He couldn't think for pleasure, and the frantic physical need for _more_ of it. Vincent's hands were framing his hips, and he was kissing Gil's hair and whispering to him in a sweet voice.

Gil had let his little brother bugger him, and he was _relishing_ it. He couldn't fall any lower than this.

Vincent had started moving, circling his hips, then thrusting shallowly. He was trying to coax Gilbert's arms around his neck for support, but the thought of being so utterly close was all of a sudden unbearable. Gilbert didn't want to touch Vincent any more than was strictly necessary. He pushed on Vincent's chest and wrenched himself back until the back of the couch dug painfully into his back.

Vincent's face twisted in pain, but he didn't stop thrusting. Gilbert's own hips pushed harshly into each thrust, his hole clutched at Vincent shamefully every time he pulled out, and even worse than that there were _noises_ , slapping rhythmical noises that made Gil's face burn even more than before. He let his head fall back so that Vincent could not look at him, but that made it jostle up and down like a rag doll's. That made Vincent utter a distressed noise, and finally gather Gil in his arms, close to his chest. It shouldn't have been too much, not after everything else he'd allowed, but still Gil didn't want to be held. He hated - it - he hated... He scrambled for his revolver and pressed the barrel right under Vincent's jaw until if dug into Vincent's soft skin.

Vincent only pushed into it. Their eyes met, finally, and Vincent's were so full of trust, so willing to take anything Gilbert gave him, that it was bordering on madness.

The revolver clattered to the ground and Gilbert clung to his brother's shoulders. He didn't want to think anymore. Inside, he felt both feverish with lust and scraped raw. The head of his cock was dripping on his own belly with the force of their rutting. He couldn't separate the sensations from the sights, the smells, the sounds. They had all melded into a single experience and he and Vincent were there together, inseparable.

Gilbert came without being touched, quietly, in messy viscous bursts that felt forcefully punched out of him from inside, with black spots in his vision. It wasn't any sort of relief. Vincent spilled inside him moments later, without asking for permission.

Afterwards, Vincent laid Gilbert out on the couch and sat next to him, gently smoothing back the damp hair that clung to his forehead. Gilbert turned his back to him, but otherwise let him do as he pleased. He was vaguely glad the couch was too narrow to accommodate two lying bodies. Otherwise he felt empty, hollowed out, like Vincent had punctured a hole in him and everything worthwhile about Gilbert had quietly leaked out.

"Brother may be able to save that person, to carry him out of the Abyss to cheers and confetti like he imagines," Vincent said suddenly. "But even if it looks like everything has gone wrong, it will be all right in the end. I'll make it so Gil gets the life he's always deserved."

The words sounded strange, inexplicable, but Gilbert couldn't find it in himself to care. He thought that he'd never be able to sleep with Vincent in the room, not after what happened, but in the end he did sleep.

When he woke, there was no sign of Vincent save for the cake cooling on the windowsill, missing a slice.

~

The roses arrived in a fortnight. Gilbert hid the note from Oz, and let the idiot rabbit chain ruin them, and watched as petals fell like confetti from between her fingers.


End file.
